Killer
by Red Tigress
Summary: Bruce wakes up and thinks the worst. (One-shot, some depictions of violence.)


The first thing Bruce was aware of was a pounding headache. Without opening his eyes, he tiredly raised a hand to rub at his temples and felt grit mixed with sweat. The Hulk's presence in his mind was almost lethargic, like a dog that that been let out at the dog park for hours and was now content and tired. Well, if the Hulk was content, he supposed, things were over. And the Avengers wouldn't have let the Hulk get out of hand. Tony wouldn't have let the Hulk get out of hand.

He opened his eyes slowly, taking in the dappled sunlight that poured in through a ruined concrete structure. The ground underneath him was uneven, but he was wrapped in someone's windbreaker. Looking at the black sleeve and matching mesh gym shorts, he supposed it was SHIELD gear. He sat up, searching his surroundings further.

His eye caught a flash of red to his right, and he spun his head around. His mind jumped instantly to the worst conclusion when he took in the damaged armor. But Tony was sitting on top of a pile of rubble a few feet above him, helmet off, staring off into space. His hair was sticking up on multiple places, and Bruce couldn't quite keep the comparison to a porcupine out of his mind. He was about to say something, but Tony just looked so _tired_. He was slumped over in the armor, sitting cross legged and still. Everything about his posture and face gave off the impression of utter exhaustion.

Fearing some unseen injury, Bruce shifted to try and get a better look at his friend. "Tony?" Bruce asked softly. Tony didn't answer, just tilted his head slightly in Bruce's direction to indicate he was listening. Bruce swallowed thickly. A silent Tony was never good. "Tony, are you alright?"

Tony didn't answer, and Bruce followed his gaze down into the rubble below him.

Bruce's heart seized in panic when he saw a burned, bloody arm sticking out from under the chunks of concrete. Glancing around, squinting so he could bring his surroundings into focus, he saw more body parts. Limbs. Dead eyes staring back at him. A few small instances of blood on the walls.

"_God,"_ Bruce moaned, gripping his hair tightly in one fist and using the other to propel himself backwards.

No wonder the Hulk was so content, _he had done this._ He had to leave had to-

"It wasn't you," Tony's voice interrupted softly.

"Tony, don't lie, if I did this I need to know!" Bruce shouted. He knew Tony didn't want him to leave, but Bruce wouldn't be able to take it if he had killed these people.

Tony snapped his head in Bruce's direction, an angry look on his face. "You didn't do it, Bruce. Stop freaking out, okay?"

Bruce felt an incredulous look cross his face. "Freaking out? Tony, I've told you time and time again if the Hulk can't be controlled, if he's going to _kill_ people-"

"He didn't kill anyone, okay?" Tony screamed, cutting off Bruce and looking manic. "I DID!"

Bruce was shocked into silence for a few seconds before he recovered.

He waved a hand vaguely at the grim corridor they seemed to be trapped in, the silence of death almost overpowering. "You…did this."

"Yeah," Tony affirmed, quietly and unapologetically.

Bruce's head swiveled around again, taking in the total and utter destruction. "W-why?"

Tony let out sour huff and looked down again. "I kill a lot of people, Bruce. I've killed a lot more than you."

That sent an unexpected chill down Bruce's spine. Bruce shook his head, getting to his feet unsteadily. "Tony…no, it's not a contest. And you can't take that Merchant of Death thing to heart. You've changed now."

"Not really," Tony said, and the way he said it was so _normal_, like he had made peace with the fact he was a murderer. He turned to face Bruce. "I'm just directly responsible for deaths I cause now. You know you're probably the best of us all, right?"

Bruce shook his head vehemently, coming to kneel on top of Tony's throne of rubble. "Don't say that, it's not true at all."

"You know why I'm not like a comic book superhero, who puts the bad guy in jail with a witty line, only to catch him again and put him back with another witty line? I kill all my bad guys, Bruce. Without remorse. Without a second thought." Bruce sat speechless as he watched his friend unconsciously wrap his arms his chest. A decidedly out-of-place gesture on the Iron Man armor, but one that Bruce knew from Tony Stark all too well. "I don't…I don't remember when I stopped caring that I was killing people. I think about it a lot. In sort of a weird, detached way. Like…is this what serial killers feel like?"

Tony was staring at the disembodied hand in front of them again, and Bruce wondered how he didn't notice it before. Tony's feigned casual indifference to violent battle. He supposed he had been so focused on himself (with good reason) that he hadn't had time to look around him.

"Tony, have you _talked _to anyone about this?" Bruce asked, already knowing the answer.

"I don't know if I've killed more people as Iron Man or as the Merchant of Death," Tony continued, ignoring him. "I honestly don't know. And I don't think I care." He unfolded his arms, staring down at the gauntlets like they were new to him. Bruce noticed some speckles of blood spatter on them.

Bruce moved in front of him, blocking his line of sight from the carnage around them. He gently took Tony's hands in his own. "Tony, I…" he hesitated, searching for words. He might have said he didn't think Tony would intentionally hurt anyone innocent, but how could he have truly known if they were innocent or not? Bruce couldn't deny the sheer intensity of the aftermath astounded him.

Tony was just staring at him, silent, eyes huge, and looking more lost than Bruce had ever seen him.

"Look, I'm the last one to judge you, okay? But right now I think we should get out of here, find the others, and then we can talk about this later. I'm…not a therapist, but I can try and help you." Bruce winced internally at how weak the words sounded.

"They were going to hurt you, Bruce," Tony pleaded, like Bruce had asked him to defend his actions. "They had these huge guns, and the gamma readings were off the charts, and I knew, I just knew, they would have really hurt you and the other guy. Maybe even irreparably, and they don't get to hurt my friends…"

Bruce nodded silently, secretly touched, and leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Tony's neck in a hug. Tony froze at the unexpected contact, utterly still, before reaching up to awkwardly pat Bruce's back. Bruce pulled away, sensing that Tony had had enough. Bruce was one of the few people that knew Tony's friends numbered less than his fingers, so every time Tony talked about friends seriously, Bruce really was touched. But Tony still looked a little lost and a little angry, and more than in a little need of help.

"We'll talk about this later, okay? But we really need to get out of here." Bruce stood up, and Tony stood up with him.

Bruce promised himself, as they flew out of the hole one of them had made and into the sunlight, that they would talk about it. The other Avengers crowded around them as they landed, each one making sure each other was in one piece, and Bruce also promised himself maybe their broken little family should _all_ talk about it. They were probably the only ones that knew what the other ones were going through.

And as he looked at Tony, still quiet throughout all his teammates' banter, and knew he was going to talk to him first. Because Bruce didn't think anyone had _ever_ asked Tony about how many people he'd killed.

But Bruce also knew how many people he'd saved.


End file.
